


the quiet space between your body and mine

by selkiegirl



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Set between episodes 4 and 6, a soft and sweet oneshot, the entire plot of this is that yuuri is beautiful and its raining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-13 19:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13577304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selkiegirl/pseuds/selkiegirl
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov falls in love with Katsuki Yuuri on a Tuesday evening.(And realizes that Yuuri loves him back on the following Wednesday)





	the quiet space between your body and mine

The rain wakes Viktor early on Tuesday, when the dark outside is still velvet soft, and in the liminal space between here, and _then_.

Next to him, her body warm, Makkachin curls with sleep, still hovering - quietly - in the blurry lines between awake and not, and there is something perfect in the moment, the peacefulness, with the rain drumming, low and steady, on the roof that replaces his heartbeat for something wild, something longing, for something _uncontainable_.

He feels serene, distant almost, as he traces spirals of figure skating jumps and step sequences that would be scored low on technical elements but, hopefully, high on presentation, onto Makkachin’s belly.

It's a program for Yuuri, he muses, but then, for it to be a prefect program for Yuuri it would have to be both high in presentation and high on the technical elements, something difficult, so that the entire figure skating community understand what he meant, when he said that Yuuri could take on the world.

(it's only later, does Viktor realize that he had been thinking about the _Yuuri on Ice_ free skate.) 

He wonders what will happen today, but it's too early, before the proudly flushed sunrise, the stillness lingering like a second creature that breathes in and out with the pale radiance of the stars, and yet, Viktor does not want to go back to sleep, because to go back to sleep would not give up this moment, when he feels as if the entire world was his.

(It's a feeling he had only ever gotten from skating before.

But now, _here_ , in the sleepiness of an ocean town in Japan that means everything and more to Yuuri, Viktor thinks, that maybe, _hopefully_ , maybe, he is relearning what it means to be human.

Because what he was before, surely, could not have been anything less that some combination of a monster and a god.)

Distantly, Viktor wonders if Yuuri is awake, and then, if not, if he could wake him.

They are hovering, dancing, and falling, tripping over each other in an odd mixture of fire bright burning excitement, and apprehension, on the edge of _something,_ something between friends and _more_ , because _just friends_ don't hold hands, fingers tangling together when they walk to the rink, blushing from more than just the cold, and _just friends_ don't laugh so hard when the other bumps their hips together, standing close enough together to be one, when they are making dinner, much later, than when the rest of the family ate.

He’s never felt this way before.

(In the past, it had always been so swift, a lion haired man who smiled with wolf teeth; a nameless man with eyes the colour of dust who had kissed Viktor in a club, and left the next morning; a man who swirled his drink and lied like quicksilver, all here, and then _gone_ , from one moment to the next, as the years slipped like sand through Viktor's fingers.)

(But, if Viktor was being honest, he had not missed them when they left - because they had never sated the the ache that they were meant to fix.)

(But with Yuuri, everything was different.)

He wants to wake Yuuri up.

A part of him, the part of Viktor that is Yuuri’s coach, not the almost _more_ , knows that he should let Yuuri sleep, but there is something about the quiet, the patter of the rain, that makes Viktor look past this, and Makkachin pads after him, sleepily, when he slides the paper door of his room open, the floor cold on his feet.

He feels fragile then, but not in the way that a newspaper catches in the wind, or in the way that a ceramic jar shatters, but in the way that a flower blooms, opening with all it's heart for all the world to see, with nothing but trust and beauty. 

It feels the same way when he had told Yakov that he as gay - “ _je suis homosexuel_ ” - the taste that the words left in his mouth tinged bittersweet with his relief, oh so much relief, of telling a secret that was never meant to be a secret, and one that was much too real to say in Russian.

He feels fragile in the same way that it takes all of the bundled up bravery inside himself that he didn’t know he had anymore.

He feels hopeful.

Yuuri’s door is closed, and Viktor half raises a palm to knock, to press his fingers feather light into the wood silhouette, but pulls back, hesitating slightly.

He feels like he has known Yuuri for so much longer than half of a shared year, some delicate part of his soul reaching out the moment that they had met, saying, whispering, “ _this feels right_ ,” and maybe, for the first time in a long, long time, Viktor had listened.

He can imagine himself knocking, ever so faintly; can imagine Yuuri answering the door, his midnight hair mussed with sleep; can imagine the look that he would give Viktor, his features soft with the hours, and yet, Viktor _doesn’t._

But then, Makkachin impatiently knocks her wet nose into the bare crease of the back of Viktor’s knee, and he yelps suddenly, the dampness just enough of a startle to cause him to slam his fingers onto the door.

There is a rustle, a sleepy half sigh, the movement of a duvet cover, and Viktor sucks in his breath, the sound rattling between his teeth as he stands, frozen, part furious at Makkachin, and part grateful to her.

Yuuri opens the door like Viktor imagined that he would, the same expression that he imagined that he would wear, his hair pushed up on one side and framing his face, and his lip worried in between his teeth. “Viktor?” He asks, murmuring, gently, as if Viktor was a wild creature that might flee given the chance, “are you alright?”

Viktor blushes, ugly red and blotchy, turning his eyes away, “Yeah, sorry, I guess I shouldn't have woken you, it was just that the-”

And then he pauses, unsure of how to complete his half trailed off sentence, because to anyone else, it would be foolish to say, ‘ _I woke you because the rain was peaceful, and I wanted to share that moment with you.’_

“Yeah?” Yuuri hums, leaning down to rub Makkachin’s floppy ears, smooshing the poodle’s face between his hands, and maybe that makes it easier, because someone who loves a dog the way that Yuuri loves dogs, has to be worthy of trust.

“The rain was nice, and just, it made me think of you,” Viktor says, his voice low in the empty hallway, looking somewhere above the point where the dark haired man is kneeling, and Yuuri glances up, mildly surprised.

“I didn’t realize it was raining,” he replies, half-laughing, standing up from crouching next to Makkachin, and then he turns to Viktor, something inscrutable in his face, half hidden by shadow. “Did you want to watch a movie? We would probably have to use my laptop, as to not wake anyone up, but we totally could if you wanted to stay awake.”

“Yeah,” Viktor says, the smiling curing golden onto his face, “yeah, that would be perfect, what did you have in mind?”

 

* * *

 

They end up watching a French movie about a girl with short black hair and shy smile, paper letters written years ago, and a photo booth, the blankets of Yuuri’s nest of a bed cocooned around them, warm, their calves pressed together, and Yuuri’s laptop humming on Viktor’s knees.

(Yuuri falls back asleep after the second scene, his head resting on Viktor’s shoulder, but Viktor doesn’t really mind.)

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is early to the rink that day, hours later, when sunlight slips unnoticed underneath doorways and windowsills, the rain still pattering on the roof. He arrives after his morning run, when Viktor is still spinning lazy figures on the ice, tracing perfect score patterns onto the glossy surface with each twist of his ankles, and Yuuri leans on the side boards, his hair damp and his face in his hands to watch Viktor, a sliver of a smile gracing his mouth.

There is something personal about it, something quietly intimate, because this is not Viktor Nikiforov, this is simply _Viktor_ , and even if Yuuri had asked him to only be himself, that day with sand in his toes and the wind biting at his shoulders, so many months ago, he finds new facades, new masks, new personas everyday, and on some days, the harder days, it seems that they only fade away with the harsh scape of his golden blades on the ice, dancing to a language that only he thought he could read until he met Yuuri.

“That was nice,” Yuuri says, a pale blush on his cheeks, when Viktor glides over, like he had skated more that elaborate circles and curves.

There are raindrops clinging to Yuuri's eyelashes, and he looks like a halfling, a fae creature that belongs to a different world, to beautiful, to ethereal, to be human.

Viktor wants to kiss him.

It's a new revelation, like tulips blooming after the last frost, the bright petals peeking out through the snow, and it fits, falling into his thoughts like the last puzzle piece, because of course he does, and Viktor feels so overly, _ridiculously happy_ about it, for a feeling he can not name save the feather brush of it on his heart.

Yuuri already has his skates tied, slipping off the red and white blade guards to join Viktor on the ice, circling him in a carelessly, half explored dance that belongs only to them, and Viktor had never thought moments like this could be special until now.

 

* * *

 

They go home a little bit early that afternoon, the rain falling heavier and heavier with each passing hour on the slate colored concrete outside, and when they peer out of the double doors,  the sun sliding down the sky like egg yolk, Yuuri’s old yellow bike is leaning listlessly next to the railing, where Viktor had left it when he came in this morning.

Yuuko had left a half hour before them, the triplets calling her home with the promise of hot chocolate, and another breathless word that Viktor’s Japaneses had not been able to grasp, and she had asked them to lock when they left, a small smile on her face.

“We could,” Viktor says, hesitating, “call your sister? To pick us up?”

“Nah,” Yuuri says, and there is something untamed in his smile, living, fluttering, and daring, and if Viktor had seen this side of Yuuri when they first, he would have thought that this was out of character, but now, months later, it's one of Viktor’s favorite things about Yuuri, “let’s take the bike.” 

Viktor looks at the silver grey sky, at the bike, and then at Yuuri again, and if he were to look in a mirror, he thinks he would have seen the same mischievous shimmer in both of their eyes. “Okay.”

“We gotta go quickly, though. Have you ever stood on the back of a bike before?”

“No?” Viktor answers, and he feels a little bit in love with everything in that moment, with the hiss of each icy falling drop, with Yuuri’s smile, with his idea, and maybe, just a little bit with Yuuri himself.

“Come on!” Yuuri cries, and he is already moving, half flying down the stairs, the wind pushing back the hood of his blue jacket, to grab at the bike, the rain starting soak through the shoulders, and Viktor is close behind him. “You’re going to have to hold my waist,” he shouts over the pouring of the rain, but he is grinning, he is grinning, and he looks so _beautiful_ , that Viktor’s breath hitches.

Yuuri swings his leg over the seat, and waits for Viktor, who hesitates for a single half moment, water dripping off his lashes, before joining him, looping his hands around Yuuri’s waist to keep balance.

They are doused within minutes, the rain falling in fat heavy drops, and yet, they are both laughing too hard to speak, Yuuri pedaling the bike as they careen down the hill next the rink, narrowly missing a car that rounds the same corner of them, honking as it passes.

But Yuuri is warm next to Viktor, and _this_ , _this_ moment, Viktor would not trade it for all the gold, silver, and bronze, Grand Prix and Olympic medals in the world.

He thinks, ‘ _this is what it means to be happy.’_  

He thinks, ‘ _this is what it means to be_ alive _, for moments like these,_ ’

And then, quietly, he thinks, ‘ _this is what it feels like to fall in love._ ’

Because of course, how could one not be in love with Katsuki Yuuri?

And it fits so perfectly, the realization like a swallowed star inside Victor's throat, the warmth blossoming out like a supernova, and when Viktor smiles, pressing his forehead into Yuuri dark hair, he can only feel grateful.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri wakes Viktor up on Wednesday evening.

He can hear him approaching before he gets to Viktor’s room, his bare feet making a gentle padding noise as he slides down the wood hallway in his glee, and when he slips open the door, his face rosy cheeked with excitement.

“Viktor!” he exclaims, “Viktor! Viktor! It's snowing!”

Viktor turns to look at Yuuri, Makkachin pushing her hind legs out into Viktor’s stomach as she stirs, and there is something breathtaking about Yuuri in that moment, his faded tee shirt slipping off his shoulders, and when he goes to Viktor, tugging at his hand to get him to wake up quicker, Viktor goes easily, grabbing the top blanket of his covers as they move, Yuuri leading him to peer out of the door to the small courtyard, to look at the falling snow.

Viktor had forgotten how much softer the snow made the world, everything white and silver in the night, and when Yuuri leans next to him, pressing their shoulders together in an unspoken statement, Viktor thinks, ‘ _oh’_ and then ‘ _maybe Yuuri is falling in love with me back.’_

Because of course, of course, Yuuri was in love with him as well, and as Viktor watches the snow tumble down, quietly, in pale flurries, he thinks, ‘ _this might be one of the best feelings in the world.’_   

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked the story, kudos and comments are worth gold. 
> 
> As always, I am on [tumblr](http://selkiegirls.tumblr.com/), if you want to come hang out and chat about yuri on ice or other things!


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